


Broken

by TheBigLoserQueen



Series: Office AU [4]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood, Child Abuse, Crying, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Human, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Language, Men Crying, Past Character Death, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBigLoserQueen/pseuds/TheBigLoserQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pixela's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken

The house was deathly quiet. The only thing that could be heard was the heavy rain pounding down hard on the sides and roof of the house. In Bloodshed’s mind, it was almost the perfect weather for a funeral, despite it taking place that morning. It was late in the afternoon now and Bloodshed still felt numb. Empty. Hollow.  
  
His heart and body all felt heavy. Like lead. But there was that part of him that maybe thought it was all a nightmare. Tht maybe Pixela was still alive and hadn’t hung herself in that room his father had built for her. But deep down, he knew. His mother was gone, dead. And she would never come back.  
  
Turning his gaze from the window, he looked at his father. The bastard was just sitting there at the table, scotch in hand. Even now… Even on the day of her fucking funeral, he just had to have a goddamn drink. This alcoholic bastard … Didn’t he care that his own wife was dead?! That she had killed herself?! Did he love her so little that all he could do was drink?!  
  
His hands balled up into fists. His mother was gone and she had left him with this drunkard. A part of him hated her for that, but he hated this man, supposedly his father, even more. He drove her to it. He made her miserable because he couldn’t put down the fucking bottle. And now, as if to mock her, he was drinking again.  
  
Bombrush seemed to notice he was being watched, looking up from his drink to meet his son’s murderous gaze. He frowned. “What?” he demanded as he finished the last of his scotch. This had either been his ninth or his tenth drink. He didn’t know, but he didn’t care. Pixela was dead, buried six feet under. What else mattered?   
  
Bloodshed said nothing, shaking his head and turning away to look back out the window and at the hard rain.   
  
Not taking being ignored lightly, he slammed down his glass and glared hard at his son. “You have something to say, then fucking say it,” Bombrush growled.  
  
Bloodshed didn’t even look at him. He couldn’t, not wanting to do anything that would have made his mother upset. Despite Bombrush’s behavior when drunk, Pixela loved him. Bloodshed never understood, even with her explanation.   
  
Pixela had told him that Bombrush wasn’t like this when sober. When he wasn’t drinking, Bombrush was a gentleman, kind and there for others. But he didn’t believe her because he hardly ever saw that side of him, this supposed sober side of him. Bombrush always seemed to be drinking, meaning he was angry and violent and abusive. Why did she marry a bastard like him? It was because of him that they were both miserable and she had killed herself!  
  
“You fucking look at me, boy.”  
  
Bloodshed finally turned, eyes still hard on the other, who was now standing up. “You want to say something, be a damn man and say it.”   
  
“I have nothing to say to you,” he said darkly, turning away again.   
  
“Bastard, don’t you lie to me.”  
  
“I’m not. Why don’t you do me a favor and drink yourself to death?”  
  
Bombrush’s eyes widened at that. What the fuck did he just say? Bloodshed was his son – and as much of a fucking pain the ass he could be, that was completely uncalled for! So what if he drank a lot?! The little shit would too if his wife’s sanity had been going until the day she killed herself, making him be responsible in terms of taking care of their son and paying the bills on this damn house!   
  
He stormed up to the boy, grabbing him by the suit jacket collar and yanking him up to face him. Bloodshed’s eyes widened as his father glared murderous at him, the damn fool clearly drunk with his breath reeking of alcohol. But he just glared back, holding his father’s arm tightly in order to stay steady.  
  
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?!” he snarled. “I’m not one your little whores or one of your friends, Bloodshed! You will treat me with some respect so long as I’m your father!”  
  
“You’re not my father – you’re just an alcoholic shit who raised me,” Bloodshed growled, jerking himself free. “And it’s hard to respect you when you can’t even stop drinking on the day of Mom’s funeral!”  
  
Bombrush shoved him back against the wall, Bloodshed hissing a bit. Despite being 6’2 and bulked up in strength and skill, his father was still pretty damn strong and taller than him. It was a real bitch when they got into a fight, considering the alcohol just made the older man stronger.   
  
“Everyone has their own way of grieving,” Bombrush said, backing away from him.   
  
“So you’re grieving all the time then?”  
  
“Hard not to when your mother was always sick and you’re nothing but an ungrateful pain in the ass.”   
  
“What the fuck do you want me to be grateful for?!” Bloodshed shouted. “For you always beating the shit out of me and verbally abusing me?! For you being a shitty father?! For you drinking all the fucking time that Mom finally couldn’t handle it and decided to kill herself?!”   
  
The older man’s eyes widened. His drinking caused her death?! His fucking drinking?! Just how stupid was Bloodshed?! “You don’t know what was wrong with her! You don’t understand anything, so don’t go acting all fucking high and mighty because you think you’re better than me!”   
  
“ _YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!_ ” Bloodshed stormed forward and slammed him hard up against the wall, holding him there by his shirt and shaking him. “ _You took her from me all because you couldn’t stop fucking drinking! Because you think your life is so fucking miserable, you have to drink and make the rest of us miserable too! Because it just isn’t fucking fair if you’re the only in hell, right?! You gotta take us all with you, don’t you, you selfish no good son of a bitch?!_ ”  
  
Bombrush just raised a fist and slammed it hard into Bloodshed’s cheek. The boy stumbled back a bit, trying to stay up right. He reached for a grip, but only took a hold of a picture. While he had been able to stay up, picture – a portrait of Pixela – had fallen and broke on the floor.   
  
Both men panted hard, Bombrush’s eyes on the picture on the floor. He gazed upon his wife’s smiling face, those big bright purple eyes looking right back at him. Guilt and rage filled his heart, the pain crushing his chest.   
  
He had failed her. He had promised to protect her and their son from everything and anything. He had promised to care for her, provide for her, love her… But here he had allowed her mental state to wither away until she finally had to end her life. He never should have met her. If he had never have met her, she wouldn’t be dead. He wouldn’t be miserable. Bloodshed wouldn’t be hurt. Or even here.   
  
He slowly looked up at his son, who was now standing up. He glared at him with such hate, such agony, that Bombrush almost started to cry. But he couldn’t. Not when he could see the tears in Bloodshed’s eyes, water slowly sliding down his cheeks. The boy’s bottom lip quivered as he whispered out, his voice cracked and broken, “Why did you have to take her away from me…? Why…?”  
  
Bombrush could not answer him and merely hung his head in shame.   
  
Bloodshed had had enough. He shook his head, giving a heartbroken growl as he did so, and stormed out of the house. He didn’t care that he didn’t have a jacket on or didn’t have anything to protect him from the rain. He just didn’t want to be in that house any longer. Not when there was no one there for him to return to who loved him.   
  
Bombrush did nothing to stop him, instead falling to his knees and reaching out to clean up the glass from the broken picture frame.  
  
He hissed, accidently cutting himself. He pulled back his hand, watching blood trickle down it and drip onto Pixela’s picture. Damn it… now it was ruined. Ruined like his life. Bloodshed’s life. Because Pixela had taken herself from both of their lives.  
  
Tears suddenly began to pour down his face. He tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming. And there was no way to stop them, or the growing pain in his heart. He finally allowed himself to cry, balling his hands up into fists and slamming them down on the ground, not caring about how he had cut his hands even more.   
  
Maybe Bloodshed was right. Maybe he did take her away from them. Maybe it had been because of his drinking. He didn’t know. And he would never know and would never be able to give Bloodshed the answer he rightfully deserved.  
  
As Bombrush wept, Bloodshed stood out in the front driveway. It was pouring, there was so much mist, and he couldn’t see anything and no one could see him.   
  
He just looked up at the sky, the rain pounding hard on his face. He was now drenched from head to toe, his clothes matted to his body and his hair flat against his face. He tried to hold in his sobs, but it was too hard for him. That empty inside of him came back, tears pouring down his face with the rain, his sobs being drowned out by the hard and thunderous drops.   
  
Pixela always used to say that God and angels were in the rain. If that was true, did that mean God was there with him? Was He trying to comfort the house in this time of pain? Or was He the cause of all this agony and was making it known? Was Pixela there with him? She was an angel now… And if angels were in the rain, then she had to have been there with him.   
  
Maybe she would hear him. Maybe someone would hear him.  
  
“Why?” he sobbed out. “Mom, why…? Why did you leave me? Why?”  
  
But no one answered him because Pixela was wrong. It could have been a lie for all he knew or maybe she had just been completely wrong. Either way, he knew the truth.   
  
Angels were never and would never be in the rain.


End file.
